Little Miss Babysitter

-- 21 --

A barrier with no limits, that's what I'd like to call it. A vibration catcher, letting solely your thoughts wisp around inside the egg shaped bowl.

I thought about my back.

I hadn't quite been able to stand tall, as of yet. My neck seemed to hunch over of it's own free will. My head had most likely grown too heavy, why with all of the unsatisfied longing crowding my brain.

It was ridiculous, really. All of the over analyzing I was doing.

Believe me when I say this; I was completely convinced that the 'romantic' feelings I had two days prior had originated due to a rushed hormonal release. I did.

That doesn't explain, though, why on Earth I was feeling as if i just got hit by a bus, and my entire foundation of thoughts were viciously scrambled inside my skull. I was questioning what exactly I was feeling, and to be honest, I hadn't the slightest clue.

I'd like to think that my feelings were insincere. That they were made up, totally and obnoxiously untrue. But you can only fool yourself so much. I remember, when I was about four years old, I wanted a pet of my own so badly that it hurt, so the only logical solution would be to trap a squirrel in the basement's bathroom. I'd wanted to tell my mom, I really did. I wanted to tell her that there was a vermon down there, of which I had named Scrat. I wanted her to know that I wanted to keep it, but knowing her, she most certainly would have shot that idea out of the sky before it even had a chance to grow wings.

So, instead of telling her, I let her find out for herself. When she went down to do the laundry.

It's not a period of time that I like to reflect upon.

We had a ceremony the following week and buried him in my backyard.

Now, although unlike the Scrat story, this one could go either way.

Option A; I could admit to myself that I liked Nate, and drop subtle hints to him along the road. Chances are he would pick up on them, and drop me down lightly. And that'd be okay.

Or, in the best case scenario, he would accept them.

As if.

Option B; Never tell him, and prohibit the opportunity to ever arise when I could be able to explain just what type of obscene libido crosses my mind when he's involved. As well, ignore the feelings at all costs and see what transpires.

Obviously, option B is where it's at.

I never liked to stress over my feelings. Everyone else, besides myself, always came first. I never did. So trying to sort out whatever I happened to be feeling was new to me. Almost trying to adjust to a new type of salad dressing when you're so used to the common brand. It was strange, and not a process I liked to endure, but physically and emotionally, had no choice in the matter.

All in all, I began doubting that those fleeting feelings from Wednesday were of no fault of anyone but myself. And ever since the ball game, I think they'd only intensified. As if they had been momentarily shoved to the ground, only to gain their footing again and complete the race.

I guess I was just hoping it wasn't true.

I thought back to how I was installed in my own little world, nothing to disrupt or disturb me, when I felt that it was safe to say that my throat was only two seconds from closing up for good.

I snapped my head up, moist sweat adorning my brow, and water pouring down my face and back into the cream colored bowl of the sink. I stood there, regaining my breath, before I lifted my face to look in the mirror.